


something wicked

by Anonymous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barebacking, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Infidelity, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Kink, Submission, well i don't know either, you may wonder what the hell made me write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 15:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17490410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In his defense, Theon never, ever in his life, thought he would be fucked by his best friend’s father. As with the majority of his life, this doesn't go according to his plan—which doesn't mean it's a bad thing. Quite the contrary.





	something wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I don't know, ok. I was just thinking about this ship last night and then I woke up today and knew it had to write something to get it out of system, so here it is. Pure, unmitigated, filth. Do with it as you wish.
> 
> This was not revised by anyone but me because I was ashamed to let my friends see this, so there might be mistakes since english is not my native tongue. Please feel free to point them in the comments so I can fix it (I'm saying this as if there'll be comments. pffff). It was written all in one day, so yeah, not my finest work.
> 
> Also, Theon's nineteen and Ned's in between forty-five and fifty. You pick.

_The house is free_ is written in dark letters against the luminous white of Theon’s phone screen. He’s already up and about as soon as he reads the message.

There’s still something new to this—the thrill of waiting, of knowing that he invite is bound to come but not knowing exactly when. It is so unlike him, who used to spend his nights at the club, choosing to whom he would bestow the grace to stick a cock inside him. Theon was definitely not the one who did the waiting. This case, however, requires a certain level of patience from him he was still not fully used to.

It’s not even an invite, just a statement, but it says enough. Well, if that makes him feel better, Theon can’t blame him.

Theon takes one bath—does _not_ wank on it, knowing that being sensitive will make his partner even hornier— and changes into one of his favorite black skinny jeans, with a red crop top who reaches right above his belly button. Under his jeans, he dons the white lace panties gifted to him for these occasions especially. He has five of them now, but there’s something about the contrast of white against his olive skin that makes it his favorite. He stuffs his backpack with another two crop tops, knowing well enough that he'll be probably using some big old t-shirt that’s gonna be offered to him—and a skimpy short that leaves a strip of his buttocks appearing. Big thanks to online shopping and the opportunity for him to buy all the female labeled clothing he wanted without judgment. After all, he thought, with legs like that, why the hell should he hid them?

He also catches one of his butt plugs. Better safe than sorry.

Five minutes after leaving home, he’s in a bus; twenty minutes late he reaches his destination. He knows the facade of the house like an old friend, could describe it with his eyes closed. Theon has no idea how many times he wished that this house were his; how many times he wished that the family who lived there was his too. It didn’t matter how much he tried to deny it, in his fifteen-year-old mismatched family pride. He wanted to be a Stark.

At nineteen, he’s already past that. He’s much more suited to being a Greyjoy anyway, since he’s as fucked up as all his siblings. It’s where he belongs. The Starks are a solace, a place to get his wounds cleaned and his anger lifted. But their home is not his home.

Notably now, with the amount of defiling he took part on it. He can’t even measure how many familiar ties would be severed if someone finds them out.

He knocks three times on the door—when he was a child, he used to scream the name of the person he wanted to see until they answered, but Catelyn didn’t like that habit of his—and less than ten seconds after, Mr. Stark opens it for him.

“Oh. Hello, Theon,” he says, and Theon has to get impressed with how he makes it look like he wasn’t expecting at all. But that was part of the game, he learned. Make it look accidental. Like something that went too far; like something they couldn’t control.

“Hi, Mr. Stark.” He closes the door after him, and while instinct tells him to throw his backpack on the ground and _go for it_ , he lets his backpack on the center table and walks to the kitchen, serving himself with a glass of water. “The house is so quiet, isn’t it?”

Ned follows after him. When Theon finishes, he takes the glass from his hands and puts it on the kitchen sink. It will be washed and put in place as soon as Theon leaves. There can’t be no proof of this. “Well Robb is with his mother and Rickon, accompanying Arya on her archery competition. It’s gonna last three, maybe four days if he makes it to the finals.” Theon knows. He’s the one training Arya every other day. “Sansa is on her senior trip and will be home by the end of the week. Bran is sleeping at the Reed’s house until the day after tomorrow.”

Theon already knew all that. It was why he was waiting for the message with such certainty. For moments like that to happen, the planets had to align first—and it was such a rare occasion that they couldn’t miss it.

“So,” It is what Theon always said when he tires of circling the subject. The smile on his face is possibly the most wicked thing Ned Stark was faced with. “Do you need my help with something special, Mr. Stark?”

Ned looks at him for a second like he’s second guessing himself. Theon bets he’s thinking _what am i doing with my life?_ Ah, but is too late now—after the first time, there was no going back to the way things were before. That bridge burned away, so they may as well do the best they can with the rest of it.

His hands are firm on Theon’s hips as they hold him against the kitchen counter, bruising it red. Theon can feel Ned’s cock pressing against his ass, even with the jeans. He has to say, the first time he saw what Ned was hiding inside his pants all these years, he didn’t think it would fit. The thought crosses his head that maybe this is why they’re doing it. Maybe Mrs. Stark tired of having herself split open and torn inside on that huge cock. Gods, does she even know Mr. Stark has the hots for men too?

But enough. He won’t think of Mrs. Stark when her husband’s hands are reaching under his top, pinching his already hard nipples, twisting them until Theon presses his ass harder against Ned’s cock and lets out a soft moan. If he could, he would be already naked by now, but he learned not to rush things, to let Ned set up the pace and relax.

_(Be a good boy, Theon, will you?_

_Yes, Mr. Stark_ , he always says, breathless, _I will.)_

Soon enough, Ned’s mouth is attacking his neck while his fingers deftly open Theon’s fly, pulling his pants down with a quick tug. When his hands find the soft flesh of Theon’s buttocks, kneading it, and reach the lace, he stops and distances himself enough to peek down.

“You‘re such a slut,” he says, and Theon, by the Gods, _keens_ at it. His hands trace Theon’s lace-covered perineum up and down, right where they would be if they were caressing a woman’s wet cunt. Precome drips from Theon’s untouched cock and leaves a damp patch on the panties. He’s grateful for the counter where he can support himself. Ned gives two paces back and admires the scene before him.

“Let me take a picture,” he asks. The first time, Theon didn’t, too scared about someone finding out. The second time, well sated after coming thrice, Ned explained to him how he would put the pictures in a cryptographed paste and Theon agreed. After that, there was always a video or a picture to remember their escapades.

He’s already light-headed by the thrill of it. Smiling, he lifts his hips a little, putting his ass on display. There’s two clicks and then Ned is telling him to turn. He takes one picture with the top and another after taking it down, hand pinching his left nipple for effect. When Ned comes back to him, his eyes are fixed on Theon’s panties, and when Theon looks down he can see his cock’s head peeking out from it, glistening.

Theon can smell his own arousal and it drives him insane. He believes Ned can smell it too, because he takes his clothes down and throws them around, complaining about the strain. The vision of his hard cock was something that would always leave Theon salivating with want. At almost ten inches long and so wide that Theon’s hand could barely closed around it, Ned Stark’s cock was the source of Theon’s fantasies way before they started fucking. Theon remembers it clearly how, one day, in the backyard pool, at fifteen or sixteen, he caught himself staring way too long at the bulge on Ned’s swimming trunks, plastered wet against the outline of his cock. _It must be so big_ , Theon thought, at once imagining how it would feel inside him. _So thick._

In his defense, Theon never, _ever in his life_ , thought he would be fucked by his best friend’s father. That day in the pool was the horny mind of a young boy that had just found out there wasn’t anything wrong in fancying man. This _thing_ , well, he has no way to know how it started. One day there was nothing, and then some furtive glances here and there, once a hand against Ned’s thigh, the other Ned's pelvis pressed against his back, and then, bam!, his lips around the head of his cock. Senseless like a boy’s wet dream. Someday he would try to find out how it got the way it did, he promised himself. Not today.

His tongue traces the outline of his lips, wetting them, and his legs move as if in muscle memory, kneeling down. But before he reaches the floor, Ned picks him up, one hand each holding one of Theon’s thighs. Theon makes a surprised expression that quickly switches to one of pleasure when Ned’s warm cock slides alongside his clothed one. He turns his head back and lets out a loud moan, linking his hands together at the back of Ned’s head before he falls off.

“Mr. Stark,” he begged, without breath. “Let me… Please, Mr. Stark, I want to suck your dick. Please, let me down.”

Ned’s fingers press against his tights with more force and Theon lets a small gasp of pain. Theon didn’t think it was possible, but Ned presses him even more against his body, and his biceps move as he rocks Theon up and down against his cock. The front of his panties is so wet by both his precome and Ned’s that it plasters against his skin, letting Ned see how painfully hard Theon is.

He opens the master bedroom door with one foot and lowers Theon before letting him drop against the king-sized bed, where he lands with his legs open. If Ned hadn’t left his phone at the kitchen with his clothes, he would take another picture, but as it is, this will be another of the scenes kept only on his memory.

Theon lifts his hips, searching for friction, and Ned answers by holding him down and letting his fingers skim against the panties, touching him in the lightest way possible until Theon is sobbing. Teasing was, Theon discovered, one of Ned’s favorite parts of all this.

“Look at you. The slightest touch leaves you moaning like at halfpenny whore,” he says, taking his hands away from Theon’s crotch. Before, he would never have believed if someone told him one of Mr. Stark’s biggest turn-ons was dirty talking. “You should control yourself if you want to last long enough for me to fuck your hole.”

“I will, Mr. Stark. I promise.” Theon nods to himself, licking his lips. His head is clouded with so much want, with the feeling of laying down on the bed where Ned lay with his wife every night. It’s always like this—the knowledge he would be fucked by Eddard Stark, of all men, perfect Eddard Stark with his perfect wife and his perfect family and his perfect business and his perfect life, leaves him more aroused than what he thinks is possible. “Please, I need you to fuck me. Just give me a good dicking, Mr. Stark. _Please_.”

(Well, maybe not so perfect, if Eddard Stark longed for a day alone where he could call his son’s best friend and fuck him until the boy couldn’t stand it anymore.)

Ned’s fingers trail the line of his stomach and close around a nipple, pinching it. Theon wonders if there is a way to make him come without being touched and without being fucked; wonders if Ned is knows how to do it. It certainly looks like it.

“I believe it’s too early for that,” Ned says, much to Theon’s dismay. He climbs into bed and throws one leg over Theon’s body, kneeling directly above his chest. The way his cock bobs with the movement leaves Theon captured, and he slips up, letting his hand touch his cock under the panties for the first time that day. He’s so wet someone could mistake him for a girl; so sensitive that every touch gives him shudders.

Ned is quick to notice, and slaps Theon in the cheek—without force, this time, because it’s his first mistake. “Hands above your head,” he orders, and at once his tone is all commanding and expecting to be obeyed. Theon wonders if this is the way he talks to his subordinates at his company, wonders how his employees don’t get all worked up just from that. “Do you want to be punished, is that it, you little whore?”

Theon wants to say _Oh Gods, yes_. Wants to say _please please please_. Wants Ned to bent him at the knee and have his big hand descend upon his butt cheeks until they’re red and hot to touch. But it would drag too much, and he’s already desperate to be filled. If Ned were to punish him, he would come at the first slap of his hand.

Instead, he says “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I forgot myself.”

Ned looks unconvinced, but lets it pass. He guides his cock to Theon’s lips, smearing them with the sour liquid. Theon opens only enough for his tongue to peek out and give a kittenish lick at the head. He feels Ned sigh above. If only he could fit him whole inside his mouth.

“Open up,” He commands and Theon obeys. In this, Theon know he’s free to move as he wishes. With a cock built up like that, Ned is still scared to fuck someone’s mouth, a fear that Theon is decided on ending with time. Theon plants his elbows on the bed and lifts his torso enough so he can fit Ned in his mouth without choking, but before that, he continues with the licking, letting his tongue lap at the precome like a dripping popsicle, until Ned holds his neck and props his mouth open with a thumb. Theon welcomes the cock like a blessing, closing his eyes as his head moves up and down on it. His jaw soon begins to hurt, lips wrapped about something so big, but he doesn’t feel it as more than a small pain of the back of his mind.

He feels when Ned starts trembling over him and that makes him suck hard, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing what he can, feeling the head slip past his throat. Theon absolutely loves the feeling, even if it hurts as hell; loves to feel full and stretched. The groans above him turn louder and louder until he has to let Ned go so he can breathe.

His head falls back against the mattress, neck and shoulders hurting with the effort to keep him propped up. Ned rests his cock’s head against Theon’s lips again, but he doesn’t push it inside, so Theon takes the chance to just kiss and lick the head, letting his tongue press against the slit, without hurry. Ned lets him do that until Theon calms down a bit.

Then, he gets off the bed and moves until he’s facing the wardrobe. He opens it, and searches for the shoebox he keeps hidden in the back. Theon is granted with a nice view of Ned’s backside, and wonders if one day the roles will be reversed—if one day, he’s going to be the one doing the fucking.

Right now, he doesn’t want it. But it would be nice to know if someday, _if_ he wanted it, Ned would let him or not.

It takes Ned a bit over thirty seconds to find the box and bring it to bed. It’s inconspicuous and well hidden, so nor the wife nor the children will find it. It leaves Theon thinking about all the things kept there, even if metaphorically, the things Ned can’t do with his wife—the spanking and the name calling and the ordering around. There’s also silk for when he wants to tie Theon on the bedposts, and a dildo so wide it took three tries for Theon to finally take it in. He remembers how Ned filmed his ass as the dildo slowly stretched his rim, one hand fisting his cock and other at the phone, how he spilled white over Theon’s butt cheeks while Theon trembled, cock pulled down so he couldn’t find friction against the sheets.

But he will not think about the wife now. And he will not—he will _not_ think about Robb, and what Robb would say if he found out. He will not think about the things Robb makes him feel, the wild butterflies in his stomach that get crushed every time he brings a new girlfriend home. He will not think about what Robb would say if he could see what Theon was doing now, or if he could knew how hard Theon wanted to be filled with his father's cock.

He will not think about anything, period.

The lace of the panties chafes against his skin, and Theon drags it down only enough for Ned to get the memo. As soon as Ned founds the lube, he brings the fabric down and slips it past Theon’s feet. Raising it high, and Theon can see how soiled it is, almost heavy. His favorite, and it’s probably going to the trash. He’ll have to ask Ned for another white one.

He’s blushing, and while he waits for the name to come— _slut_ , he can already hear, and for him now it’s almost like a compliment—but instead Ned bends down until they’re face to face and crashes his lips against Theon’s, filling the his mouth with his tongue.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by any of them that this is their first kiss that day. It’s just that is isn’t something they do much. The less they kiss, the less intimate it looks like, as if Mr. Stark is just a man who needs to let his kinks out occasionally and Theon’s just the boy that can fulfill his fantasies. It’s easier this way, thought sometimes, like this one, they can’t help slipping up.

Theon is too busy trying to bite Ned’s lower lip to hear the bottle cap opening. Suddenly there’s something cold brushing against his hole, but rather than close his legs in surprise, he opens them wider, displaying himself like the whore Ned says he is. The digit presses against him, testing before going in. Ned’s fingers are also thick, and Theon moves his hips alongside them, trying to find his prostate. Ned sits straight and in the middle of Theon’s legs to get better access. Theon puts both hands at the end of his cheeks and spreads himself even wider, which makes Ned suck a breath and thrust his finger harder. He squeezes more lube and Theon’s hole puckers up at the cold feeling, tightening on Ned’s finger. Soon enough, there's two and then three digits inside him. Theon moans as they brush by his prostate but never ram against it as he wants them to.

Ned would probably thrust his whole fist if Theon asked him to. Someday he will. There’s still a lot of things he wants Ned to do to him before this ends.

“Ne—Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark, please.” He throws his head to the side, pinches both his nipples, lifts his hips. Such a sight, if only he could see. _Nineteen and spread like this for me_ , Ned thinks. He takes his fingers out and bites the inside Theon’s cheek with just enough force to mark him. Whatever boy fucks Theon tomorrow, Ned wants them to see. To know.

The little whine Theon lets at the loss of the fingers is shushed as Ned rises and pulls Theon down until his ass is almost off the mattress. He fits the legs over his shoulders, and squeezes another stream of lube over his cock before aligning it with Theon’s hole. _Here it comes_ , Theon thinks, mentally preparing himself as Ned presses against him, but it’s not enough to keep his scream down when it finally slithers its way inside, inch by inch filling him, widening him from the inside. Theon thrashes and screams until he feels Ned’s ball slap against his cheeks, and he keeps moaning until Ned kisses him again to shut him up.

They both know Theon won’t be able to last long, not with having got until here without coming. Ned keeps one hand on his leg for balance, and the other goes to Theon cock, stroking it in rhythm with his thrusts. He looks down and all he can see is Theon hole stretched around his cock, sucking it with every movement, as if it can’t get enough. He looks at Theon’s face and sees his eyes shuttered close, his nails pressing against his palms with such force is a wonder they didn’t draw blood yet, his mouth open in endless moans, his muscles tensed and locked in place, just in wait of a command.

“You can come anytime,” he says, just before ramming his cock against Theon’s prostate, and it’s all it takes to make him spill over his stomach, staining Ned’s hand white. When he looks at the ceiling, all he can see is colorful shapes taking over his eyes as he trembles until the high comes down and he sucks in a breath again.

Above him, Ned doesn’t stop. Now that Theon came, he thrusts in with even more force, shaking Theon’s whole body to the point he feels like he’s only some big hole made for Mr. Stark to fuck until exhaustion.

It hurts with how sensitive he feels, but it’s still so good. Theon asks Ned to stop, moans it—Ned doesn’t because he knows that, if Theon wanted to stop, he would use the colors or his safe word. As it is, he keeps on it, slapping his balls against Theon’s ass with every thrust, as Theon continues moaning and whining under him. _fuck_ and _stop_ and _so good_ and _please_ and _gods_ and—this one he likes best— _mr. stark._

His balls feel heavy, full with sperm, and quickly he decides between painting Theon’s face and body with it or stuffing his ass full of come. Sweat drips from his forehead in slow trickles, and when Theon opens his eyes and looks at his scrunched face, he smiles—the devil—and clenches around him until Ned comes inside him with three more thrusts, filling Theon to the brim with his seed. He falls back at Theon’s side, close enough that his cock won’t slip out right away.

When he opens his eyes, minutes later, Theon is pressing butterfly kisses on his neck and the head is the only part of Ned’s cock still nestled inside him. Ned touches Theon’s cheek and presses a soft kiss at his forehead.

“Was I a good boy?” Theon asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“The best,” Ned whispers, tracing the shell of his ear. He lets his hand wander a little over Theon’s face, tracing nose and cheekbones, then his neck and clavicle. Theon lets out the smallest of whines as Ned's cock slips out of him fully. At last, he rises and fishes a butt plug, one of the small ones, from the box, cleaning it before slipping it inside Theon’s wet and loose hole. “As your reward, you can keep this in for me.”

Theon laughs, but it’s just to disguise how much he likes it, walking around with come still inside him, so when they want to fuck again he’s already wet and ready for it.

They stay in bed for a while, with Ned combing Theon’s head with his fingers and making little braids with it until Theon’s stomach rumbles. “I’m hungry.”

Ned cocks an eyebrow at him. “Well?”

“I’m hungry, _Mr. Stark._ Please get something for me?” He smiles and Ned looks at him like he’s the most devilish minx to ever walk on this earth, which might be true.

He waits until Ned is in the shower to sit at the bed, folding his knees under him. The plug moving inside him awakes his arousal again, and he knows it won’t be long until his cock springs up to attention. If he wanted to, he could rise and get on the shower while it’s still running, have Ned satisfy him with his hand or his mouth before he left.

 _I’m fine_ , he tells himself. What’s a little waiting, after all? He traces the steps they’re bound to take: Ned will finish his shower, dress and then leave to buy Theon one of the chocolate cakes from that expensive candy shop that’s just at their street corner. Theon will shower, try to get his arousal down, and then put one of Ned’s old pajama shirts who reached the middle of his butt and wait for him at the living room. Then they would eat maybe two slices of cake each, Theon would throw his legs over Ned’s as they watched TV, and Ned would stroke them until Theon opened just enough so Ned’s finger could reach his hole and massage it. And then it would begin, all over again, this strange cycle.

Any of them could put a stop to it. The problem is that it isn’t something either of them wanted to do—at least, not for a while. Bran’s not home for two days yet, and that is plenty of time for them to have a little fun.

It’s all wonderful, until someone inevitably finds about it.


End file.
